Lanky howler Chris Robinson, guitar-playing bro Richard and their Georgian pals set the standard with 1992's Southern Harmony and Musical Companion.

There's a grizzled swagger to their prickliest tunes - holy, sad and sensual songs that raised the ghosts of Duane Allman, Willie Dixon and Brian Jones while maintaining its mad uniqueness - this at a time when the turgid Nirvana ruled the roost. They even made having long beards OK.

They've made good records and lame ones. They broke up, reformed and watched others try to fill their boogie shoes. But if last night's performance at the TLA - which began a three-gig stint that continues with sold-out shows tonight and tomorrow night - was any indication, no one can approach the Crowes' brand of elegantly wasted magic.

Chris Robinson could hardly get "Awwrright, sister" out of his mouth before he was sashaying, hands-on-hips, through the sparse and slow boiling "Movin' on Down the Line." Robinson was a live wire. As the song's fluid elegaic hum continued, it grew louder until the full flower of background vocalists and churchy organs blossomed.

From then on, it was a Southern fried affair that swung hard ("Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution") and grooved deeply with a serving of sweet harmony ("Whoa Mule") on the side.

While guitarist Rich Robinson handled crusty leads and mangier rhythms, Luther Dickinson (of North Mississippi Allstars fame) took on the more liquidy atmospheric guitar runs in true earth and water fashion.

The fire? That was Chris. He screamed, cackled and soared soulfully and dolefully through all he surveyed. Though he might've gotten lost during the wrecked epic that "Downtown Money Waster" became, he made "Paint an Eight" a lemon-squeezing blues howler worthy of Robert Plant with just a few simple "yeahs" and turned Johnny Cash's "Long Black Veil" murder ballad into a rustic sexy torch song.

Brilliant.